


Quiet Nights

by Randomosity



Category: The End Times: Vermintide, Warhammer Vermintide, Wathammer Fantasy
Genre: And really, F/F, Fluff, Listen I just want the best for Sienna, Nightmares, Snuggling, dont we all?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 23:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20750645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomosity/pseuds/Randomosity
Summary: Sienna does not frequently dream, but those she has wake her with their strange and gruesome beauty. When roused with such sights, what is one to do other than seek the comfort of those they trust?





	Quiet Nights

It’s quiet out tonight, none of the usual drunken laughter from the front room, or pained screeches from Saltzpyre’s little workshop of horrors below. Perhaps it’s that lack of noise that rouses her, perhaps it’s the building of heat in the pit of her stomach, that blooms outwards to envelop her skin.

Perhaps it’s that recurring dream of the roaring inferno, the image of aqshy’s gorgeous flame, red hot tongues licking at the starless sky. Its beauty dimmed only by the blackened, sizzling flesh of her wailing companions.

She stumbles groggily out of her room, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms before pushing her fingers up through her hair. The stairs seem longer than she knows them to be, too many steps, too big a distance to cross.

Down and back up again, steadying herself with the wall of the Keep as she moves for the open arch to the courtyard. The distant crackle of a campfire nipping at her ears, in union with the soft croon of a lilted hum.

Embers rise into the sky, the warm glow of their source hidden by the oak that’s grown up through the cobble of the courtyard, strong and defiant despite many attempts to see it stamped flat.

Much like the woman who now shelters beneath its boughs.

Kerillian moved out into the courtyard before they’d completely cleared the door, eager to be free of the entry hall they’d all been sleeping in together not more than a few months prior.

Sienna was also rather glad to leave the entry hall once a room became available, Bardin’s snoring threatens to burst eardrums in close quarters. Add to that the fact Saltzpyre’s teeth whistle when he sleeps, sharing close quarters was nearly unbearable.

She didn’t blame her for being so quick to get out, not in the slightest. There are, however, times she wishes she hadn’t picked a room so far away. The dirt and grass feel surprisingly welcoming beneath her bare feet as she rounds the small, natural hill that’s formed to shelter the great oak’s roots.

At its peak she finds Kerillian, leaned into the crook of one of those arching roots, bouncing pebbles off the short stone wall that is their only barrier against tumbling off the mountain’s top.

She leans against its trunk for a moment, she knows Kerillian can hear her, and yet her continued humming is proof enough that she’s welcome.

She closes her eyes for a moment, listening to the quiet, mournful tune and the popping flames

“Beautiful, Darling.” She purrs softly as the waywatchers tune falls quiet. Though she cannot see neath her veil, she can hear the smile in her voice. “I know, Denla Saroir.”

Kerillian doesn’t bother to look up, shifting over and patting the open patch of grass beside her. “Rough night, Wizard?” She asks softly.

“I was going to ask you the same.” She huffs, settling in beside her, resting her head back against the ark of the root with a sigh. “Yes.”

Kerillian shifts to sit closer to her, offering her an arm to curl under. She accepts wordlessly, resting her head on the elf’s shoulder, allowing her to loop her arm around her.

Kerillian’s sleep is haunted by terrors. Sights and sensations she cannot, or simply will not describe. It’s the pain of knowing that, were she a little more aware, she might be able to help.

Neither speaks, watching the fire crackle. Though silence is and always has been a bore to Sienna, something to be filled, Kerillian proves that silence can be filled noiselessly.

With emotion instead of words. It’s among the few she can stomach, because it always feels like mutual acceptance, after facing endless opposition.

For the moment, everything falls away. All the troubles, Ratmen, Northlanders, fears and doubts. Everything is put to the sidelines, where the two are allowed to dominate the space in equal measure without the struggle. With the feeling of Kerillian’s heart beating against her shoulder, suddenly it doesn’t seem so bleak and this moment, no matter how short-lived, seems to stretch on for eternity. As though this memory, but one of hundreds more where one would seek contentment and comfort in the other, will outlive them both.

Perhaps it will. Maybe it will only be her. It is, after all, rather hard to think of the elf being outlived by anything.

"Something on your mind, Sienna?" Kerillian asks, head tilted to look down at her. She glances up at her face, watching the light flicker in her dark eyes, where the dancing flame and fleeing embers leave tiny pinpricks of light within. It's neither the first nor, she believes, the last time she'll make the comparison between the wood elf's eyes and the midnight sky.

She bites the inside of her cheek, turning her head away again as she considers her answer. For how often she's found herself here, they'd never really talked about what put them there.

Another night, she thinks as a broad grin splits her face, they've plenty more ahead of them to talk on it.

"How many of those ridiculous hats do you think Witch Hunters have lost to low hanging branches?"

Kerillian arches an eyebrow at her, huffing in amusement and shaking her head. "If they're all as bad as One-eye, more than you've got the numbers to count." she chuckles.


End file.
